Disability and public infrastructure mismatch

On paper, our cities look inclusive. Laws promise access, policies speak of equality, and government documents proudly mention ramps, lifts, and accessible toilets. But step outside those documents and into real life, and the story changes completely, especially for people living with disabilities. For them, public infrastructure often feels like a daily obstacle course rather than a shared space. A ramp is built, but it is so steep that it cannot be used safely. A lift exists, but it is permanently out of order. Tactile paths for the visually impaired suddenly end in the middle of a footpath. Accessible toilets are either locked, missing, or so unhygienic that using them becomes impossible. These may look like small failures, but together they quietly push people with disabilities out of public life.

India has strong laws like the Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act, 2016, which clearly say that public buildings, transport systems, and services must be accessible. The intention behind these laws is good. The problem lies in implementation. Accessibility is treated as a formality rather than a responsibility. A ramp is added just to tick a box. A signboard is installed without checking whether it actually helps anyone. Officials report numbers, how many buildings were “made accessible”, but rarely check whether a wheelchair user can actually enter independently or whether a visually impaired person can safely navigate the space. Accessibility becomes something to show on files, not something to practice on streets.

In cities, the problems are visible everywhere if one looks closely. Metro stations may have elevators, but they often don’t work or are poorly maintained. Bus stops are raised without proper boarding access. Footpaths are broken, uneven, or blocked by parked vehicles. Public offices are usually located on upper floors with no functioning lifts. Even places meant for public care — hospitals, courts, universities — often forget that dignity begins with access. For someone with a disability, every small outing requires planning, extra time, and often the help of another person. Independence becomes a luxury rather than a right.

The situation becomes even more difficult in rural areas, where infrastructure itself is limited. Roads are uneven, buses are inaccessible, and public buildings are rarely designed with disability in mind. A simple task like visiting a health centre or attending school can feel impossible. Many villages still see disability as a family issue rather than a public responsibility, which means that people are quietly confined to their homes. When mobility is denied, education is interrupted, employment opportunities disappear, and social life shrinks. This invisibility deepens poverty and emotional isolation, especially for women and elderly people with disabilities.

What makes this gap more painful is that it is completely avoidable. Accessibility is not about luxury or high-tech solutions. It is about thoughtful design and regular maintenance. A gently sloped ramp costs little more than a poorly built one. A lift only needs timely servicing. Tactile paths should lead somewhere meaningful, not stop suddenly. Toilets must be unlocked, clean, and treated as essential services, not optional extras. These are not complex ideas — they simply require care, planning, and accountability.

In recent years, courts and advocacy groups have tried to push governments to take accessibility more seriously. The Supreme Court has reminded authorities that accessibility is a legal right, not a favour. Transport systems like railways and airports have announced upgrades. While these steps are important, they often remain incomplete or poorly monitored. Without regular audits and feedback from people who actually use these spaces, improvements fail to last. Accessibility is not a one-time construction project; it is an ongoing responsibility.

At the heart of this issue lies a simple truth: infrastructure reflects who a society values. When a building is inaccessible, it silently tells people with disabilities that they were not considered. When a bus cannot be boarded, it tells them their movement does not matter. Over time, these messages build a culture of dependence and exclusion. Everyday tasks — going to work, attending college, visiting a doctor — become exhausting struggles. This is not because of the disability itself, but because of an environment that refuses to adapt.

Real change requires a shift in mindset. Accessibility should be planned from the beginning, not added later as decoration. Disabled people must be involved in designing, inspecting, and reviewing public spaces because they understand real challenges better than any manual. Local governments must be held accountable, and maintenance budgets must be treated as essential, not optional. Most importantly, society must stop seeing accessibility as charity and start seeing it as basic fairness.

Public infrastructure belongs to everyone. Streets, buses, schools, and offices are meant to serve all citizens equally. Until accessibility moves from paper to practice, people with disabilities will continue to face barriers that should never exist. Inclusion does not begin with sympathy — it begins with ramps that work, lifts that run, paths that guide, and doors that truly open for all.

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